Her Journey
by j1ack
Summary: Arwen recalls everything that happened during her time with Aragorn as she rides for Lothlorien. Along the way, she gets caught up in a rather interesting adventure...  Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.


**A/N: I recommend that you read all of the quotes at the beginning of chapters, because often they will give crucial information as to the context of the chapter, or background information that will help you understand what I'm talking about. Also, if you aren't a Tolkien freak, and you haven't read all of his publications, and you come across something or someone that is unfamiliar to you, I would suggest copying and pasting it into Wikipedia, and reading the short summary that it provides. It will be **_**extremely **_**helpful in understanding the context of the story. And without further ado, let's begin! Oh no wait, I lied. Don't forget to review. It makes me want to update more often. Thanks! =)**

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><p>"… <em>let us not be overthrown at the final test, who of old renounced the Shadow and the Ring. In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory. Farewell!"<em>

' "_Estel, Estel!" she cried, and with that even as he took her hand and kissed it, he fell into sleep._

_The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A, Section I, Subsection V, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen_

There was nothing more for me here.

Eldarion was the king, but there was nothing more that I could teach him. Perhaps that is the thing that a mother fears the most: not that harm will come to her children, but that her children will know enough to face harm without fear.

The only thing that had ever prevented me from leaving with my father for the Undying Lands was him. At the time, I thought that he was the greatest man to walk Middle Earth, that he had everything that I ever wanted from anyone, from anything. I still believe that.

There was nothing more for me here.

Gondor was still in its formal mourning period of one month. Black draped the halls and flew from the battlements, but it wouldn't be that way for much longer. Soon the black would be replaced with the white and blue tree emblem of Gondor, in celebration of the crowning of a new king. I had no reason to celebrate. He was dead. My love was dead.

The sky was on the cusp of dawn; the horizon was tinged with grey, like the sun wanted to rise, but couldn't find the strength. I had ordered a horse to be prepared for my journey a few hours previously, and his white coat stood out as a beacon in the semi-darkness as he was held by a groom that I didn't recognize.

I pulled a black velvet cloak around my shoulders, fastened it with a silver broach, and pulled the hood over my head to cover my eyes, as was custom of a mourning queen.

I made sure that there were enough provisions to last the journey, and I then mounted the horse in a swift motion. The groom handed me the reigns, and I was soon gone, never again to return to the White City of Minas Tirith.

I have never ridden so hard to anywhere, save for when I was riding for Rivendell with Frodo. I could not stand the risk of any of my children sending out patrols to look for me, as I had not told them where I intended upon going. They had no reason to know.

The horses of Gondor were well trained in stamina, so it was about midafternoon before no matter what I asked of him, he would do nothing but amble forward with his head down, his sides heaving and froth dripping from his lips.

I dismounted, seeing it pointless to push the animal any further, as we were already a good distance from Minas Tirith. We were already well into the Druadan Forest.

I walked onward, beckoning the horse to follow, as I was sure there was a clearing with a stream nearby. I soon found that I was correct, and the horse trotted over to the clear waters to satisfy his thirst.

Taking off my cloak and using it as a blanket, I settled into the clearing. The air smelt crisp, like the coming of the changing of the season. Birds sang; insects chirped. The birch trees swayed in the slight breeze. _Birch trees? _I asked myself. His face, a much younger version, but his face nevertheless, flashed before my eyes. It was a face unmarred by war and tragedy, and it was full of a childlike hope.

I remembered that day perfectly, and I would never forget a detail. I just recently returned from Lorien, and we were both in Rivendell at the same time for the first of many times to come. I had decided to take a walk among the birch trees that grew not far from my father's house. I had always been at peace in any forest, be it of elves or of men, but this day was different. I felt something was going to happen, something life changing, today, in this very forest. I hadn't had a vision that told her of this; I simply knew. I heard his voice ring out in my mind almost as clear as it was on that day, that wondrous, glorious day when I first met him.

"Tinúviel, Tinúviel!"

I wasn't at first sure if it was I to whom this mysterious man had been speaking, but I soon realized that I was the only woman in the near vicinity.

I turned to face the man and responded, "Who are you? And why do you address me by that name?" He was certainly attractive, for a Man at least.

He responded to me by saying, "Because I believed you to be indeed Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom she was singing. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness."

_Well, his fault must be stupidity, or at least ignorance, _I remembered thinking. _Lúthien was, after all, my great-great grandmother. _"So many have said," I responded with all seriousness, "Yet her name is not mine. Though maybe my doom will be not unlike hers."

I was immediately assaulted by the sadness of the irony. Even in death, his words still had such tremendous power over me. He was so young then, and I thought him so pretentious. Never would I have guessed that now, two centuries later, I would be in such sorrow over a man who made such bold claims, such as that he was the Chieftain of the Dúnedain.

My horse wandered over, as he had finished drinking from the stream, and he was contently munching on the verdant green grass that grew by my left foot. I realized that I had not bothered to learn the name of the horse from the groom; I was in too much of a state of grief in that moment to care.

I rose and began to unburden the beast; it seemed too absorbed in its task of chewing to even notice. After I laid down the packs, I gazed at the horse from a short distance, and then decided what his name would be. Aragorn.

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><p><strong>AN: The dialogue during the flashback is also from **_**The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen.**_

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